Bittersweet
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: "Do yourself a favor, kid. Don't ever fall in love.":: Or in which Alastor has a messy love life, and Tonks thinks that he deserves to be happy.


**Written for the Fanfiction Tournament (Valentines, round 3)**

Alastor returns to the Ministry, stiff and aching from the last raid. Merlin! He's not as young as he once was.

"Alastor!" comes a singsong voice, and Nymphaodra Tonks bounds toward him with a grin, stumbling over her own feet and crashing into the old Auror.

"Watch it, Tonks," he says, unable to fight a small smile as he reaches out to steady her. He's always had a soft spot for the young witch. "That pink hair will do you no favors if you're trying to blend in with a crowd."

She only smiles more broadly. "It's Valentine's," she replies with a small, dramatic pout. "It's meant to be festive."

"And being festive will get you killed if you're not careful. Constant-"

"-vigilance," she finishes for him in a poor immitation of his rough voice. "But you can be grouchy all you want. Someone still loves you."

Before he can ask what she means, he reaches his desk and sees it for himself. Atop the desk, among stacks of newspaper clippings, notes, and files, rests a basket filled with sweets. Sweets, Alastor knows without even going through them, from Honeydukes. A thin smile breaks across his face.

"Who's the lucky witch, Mad-Eye?" Tonks asks, reaching into the basket and plucking out a lollipop. "Or wizard, I suppose. Whichever floats your boat. Oh, look! There's a card!"

Alastor reaches for it, grabbing it before she can. "Curiosity isn't always a good thing, Nymphadora," he says quietly.

"Tonks," she corrects sharply with a huff, unwrapping the lollipop and placing it in her mouth. "Why can't you tell me who sent it?"

Alastor hesitates, tracing his finger over his name written across the envelope in elegant gold letters. "Because," he says with a sigh, tucking the envelope into his shirt pocket, "he's married."

"Oh," Tonks says softly, placing her hand on his. "I'm sorry."

Alastor usually doesn't like to be touched, and he's never really been fond of comfort. But, with Tonks, he somehow doesn't seem to mind. "Do yourself a favor, kid," he says, ruffling her shaggy bubblegum hair and smiling bitterly. "Don't ever fall in love."

..

"The Honeydukes bloke?"

"The Honeydukes bloke," Alastor confirms, poking at the charred attempt at dinner that Tonks has prepared for him.

"But he's so nice. And you're so..." Tonks clears her throat, shaking her head. "Never mind."

Alastor growls, tearing off a piece of whatever meat the blackened, tough strip had once been. "Never mind, indeed."

"You love him?"

He nods.

"You shouldn't be alone on Valentine's Day," she says, pointing her knife at him sternly before using it to split a roll.

"I'm not. That's why you invited me to dinner," he reminds her, gesturing at the table.

"But you should be with someone you love," she says. "You should be with Ambrosius!"

"Life doesn't always work like that, kid," he says. "And who said I'm not with someone I love? You're just as important to me as an old flame."

She sighs, resting her chin against her palms, like she's lost in a daydream. Alastor wants to laugh. She's still so young, so innocent. She hasn't been tainted by the harsh realities of the real world yet. He hopes she never loses it.

"Are you ready for dessert?" she asks.

Alastor shakes his head. "I'm not too fond of sweets these days."

..

"Sorry. We're just clos- Alastor."

"Ambrosius."

The shopkeeper smiles, smoothing out the creases in his robes as he approaches. "You got my basket," he says, touching a hand to Alastor's cheek.

Alastor closes his good eye, drawing in a shaky breath. "I did," he says. "And I want it to be your last."

"Alastor."

"You have a wife, Ambrosius."

"Out of duty," Ambrosius reminds him.

"It doesn't matter," Alastor whispers, opening his eye again. "You have your life. I have mine. Best that we stick to them."

Before Ambrosius can answer, Alastor turns, ducking out of the shop and disappearing into the street. He's never let anyone, not even Ambrosius, see him cry, and he doesn't plan to change that now.


End file.
